


Secret Vice

by leet911



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily is sad, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-04
Updated: 2008-09-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leet911/pseuds/leet911
Summary: This is not a love story, but Emily remembers exactly how it started.
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	Secret Vice

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Emily remembers exactly how it started.

They were always the first ones in to the office every day. JJ had briefings to prepare; Emily was new and trying to impress. Neither made too much of it. So every morning, the two of them would stand in the empty bullpen and watch the coffee machine drip. It was there that they became friends, sharing sleepy-eyed stares over the gurgle of brewing coffee. It was there that Emily told stories about growing up a diplomat's daughter and travelling all over the world. It was there that Emily learned about girl's soccer, dark forests, and quaint little towns in Pennsylvania. It was also in those early mornings that Emily learned about JJ's secret vice.

JJ's secret vice was mostly sweet and only a little bitter, just like her. JJ's secret vice was hot and chocolate, velvet and caffeinated. And so Emily remembers sunrise stops at Starbucks on the way to work. "Two mocha lattes, extra sugar, no foam."

Emily remembers mocha lattes. Her hands remember warmth seeping through paper cups on cold winter mornings. "I'll bring the coffee, it's on the way for me." Her eyes remember the steam rising to fog up the window of the empty passenger seat. "You know, I could pick you up in the morning, it's not too much of a detour." Her mouth remembers the thick rich taste of chocolate and the scalding liquid against her tongue. "I don't know how I ever managed mornings before I met you."

She likes to think they were only talking about coffee. Because sometimes, she thinks she remembers other things. Sometimes, Emily's hands remember JJ's hips, swaying to the beat of some unheard music. Emily's eyes remember JJ's smile – slow, smooth, and sexy. Emily's mouth remembers JJ's breath, exhaled sharply into the space between them. And Emily's skin remembers JJ's heat, burning like a thousand suns and searing her every time they touched.

But that was then, and this is now. That was before New Orleans, before JJ's weekend trips out of town, before sandy blond detectives and swollen bellies. Everything's changed now.

Now, Emily drives to work alone every day, just like she used to. She's early (very early) and that too, is exactly the same. What's different, is the lone cup on her desk, tall and white, with a green logo emblazoned on the side and no twin nearby. What's different, is that when JJ sees her every morning, there's only a nod and no wave, no smile, no stopping by to say hello.

It hurts, and it shouldn't. After all, they're just supposed to be colleagues. It's not as if they owe each other anything.

So Emily tries to pretend that what they had was not love. It couldn't be. Love is more than taking turns buying coffee in the morning, hanging around the office if one of them needs to finish paperwork, or simply arranging to share adjoining hotel rooms when they're out on a case. Love should be passionate, consuming, and they've never had that before. Except maybe once, when they made out in the women's room late at night, but they've never talked about it since. And sometimes Emily isn't even sure it really happened, because while it was nice, it was also kind of embarrassing, and strictly a one-time thing. Love is not supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's why she tells herself that this can't possibly be heartbreak, even though it feels like it, because this is not a love story. This is her getting up at a quarter to six every morning so she can buy coffee and still make it to work early enough to meet JJ in the parking lot. And she likes to pretend she's not doing it on purpose. She likes to pretend that it's purely coincidence the two of them show up to work at the same ungodly hour with the same steaming cups from Starbucks in hand.

Neither of them indulges in vice anymore though. The day they stopped being best friends, Emily showed up with two cups only to find JJ had her own. "Decaf," the blonde had said, rubbing her stomach.

It's not fair that JJ's secret vice should be so plain and ordinary, whereas Emily's is forbidden. Emily's secret vice is unique and unattainable, angelic and crowned with gold. Emily's secret vice is a thing of the past, and she remembers exactly why it ended, even though sometimes she wishes she didn't.

And there's a part of her that doesn't know why she still buys these things, but she can't make herself stop. It's not like she ever finishes her latte anymore, just leaves the half-empty cup lying around so she can take it to the morning briefing. It gives her something to hide behind when JJ is in the room. Because even though she should be looking at pictures of murder and pain and death, sometimes she can't keep her eyes from straying to the person giving the briefing.

Those are the times she reaches for her drink – lukewarm, clammy and overly sweet. She takes a sip, grimaces at the taste of runny chocolate, and breathes in deeply. Because the truth is, she doesn't even like mocha lattes, but the smell reminds her of love.  
  


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End file.
